Mother's Day

It's a Wednesday morning. Middle of the week. I have a minute to myself, and I notice how present I am. Completely dropped in. I think of eighth grade, when I went away to camp for a week for the first (and only) time. I'll never forget how Wednesday felt. I hated the camp, the kids were rude, and I desperately wanted to go home. When Wednesday hit, I had such an overwhelming feeling that I was stuck. Time was at a standstill and I was trapped in the thick of it. This particular day of the week, smack dab in the middle, felt like a non-day. I was no longer at the beginning, but I certainly wasn't at the end. I was present then too, but years later, the difference is that I no longer want out.

I have a one-year old son. One. I have been made mother for over one year. One. With such a big birthday and with Mother's day approaching again I am swirling with feelings trying to make their way out in the form of words. 

I am now a mother, but I am still so many people. They are all very much alive in me. I am that little girl, heartbroken on a Wednesday, on the outside looking in. I am nineteen. I've just moved to New York City where nightlife will explode open, my heart will be crushed, and my teardrops will be left quite literally on the sidewalks. My passions will bloom, my artistry will grow, and I will leave there a real actor. I am a first grader, hurt by getting my one time-out over a complete misunderstanding, and losing my chance at the end-of-year prize from the treasure chest. I am in my early twenties, years into the wrong story. I change my fate. I meet the man who is designed just for me, we have a child. 

Now there is you, my boy.

You were born, and my soul hit the earth with a boom. Mother. Cracked open, everything fell away. Only my purest self remained. I'd had yet to met her.

You have reframed the universe, and restructured time. I have never been so in awe of a person. You, who upon first glance I thought, "who is this?" Looking nothing like I'd thought. Surprising me at every turn. I don't see much of me in you. You are your own little creature. This makes you even more magical. The Little Prince, and I am the curious one, having landed on your planet. 

You. You are everyone who came before and those yet to be. You, who after the most beautiful delivery suddenly got sick. They said to us, "if this happened 100 years ago, he wouldn't be here." But it didn't happen 100 years ago. Time was kind to us, my darling, and let us meet now. We are here, and I still can't grasp it. That you are mine, for keeps. But I've often felt that way about your dad. Six years since we met and I still have to pause and catch my breath. 

There is simply not time for anything that is not urgent. Or important. For time is liquid gold. If it takes me away from you it has to be worth it. There is no other option. 

You remind me that we are all perfect exactly as is from the second we burst into being. More than ever, I laugh at the labels we draw with the earth and with each other. We are all so much more than human and the silly rules we've made. I want such a much bigger, opened-minded earth for you, my boy. 

I saw you years before I knew you. I felt you close by just before you came to us. 

Life exploded into color when you arrived. I will be forever grateful for you, for making me a mother. For leading me my truest self. Little love of my life.

My boy, who shifted all of my selves into perfect harmony. Who taught me to love time, every second of the existence I've chosen (eternel retour) and even to love every Wednesday.


Previous post:  THE BOY 
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Content.

Content.

That's the word.

Today I told my husband that I had no idea how content I'd feel to be at home, be with our boy. You can't possibly know how you'll feel pre-baby, but I assumed I'd want to continue life as usual, with baby now added. But I can't.

I am so content to be Charlie's mom at the moment, that I'm finding myself turning down work. Me five years ago couldn't have done this. Work was the most important thing in my life. Staying "relevant". The thought of "giving it up" for a baby wasn't an option. It was hardly a desire.

Fast forward to meeting the love of my life and doing a complete 180 with my feelings about having a baby, and here we are. A little over two months in and I can honestly and wholeheartedly say I love being his mom. He awakened a patience in me I never knew I had.

I believe in reincarnation. I believe we have certain lessons each cycle. I know mine this round have been patience, acceptance, and being present. I believe life hands us these lessons again and again until we finally get it. I have been through so many life experiences, and had countless opportunities to learn these lessons, but it just never quite clicked. Until Charlie.

He made patience and being in the moment absolutely bloom in me. It happened so naturally that I'm only now realizing the way it snuck up and seeped in. I so aware of what a privilege it is to be his mom. I'm so aware that it's going to go by fast, already is. I am so aware of how much this tiny being needs me. I can't imagine putting anything in front of this time. It is so, so very precious. I know I'll never regret saying no to anything that will take me away from him. Not anytime soon. Not during this babyhood I'll never have with him again.

Recently I turned down a play. Having lived my new life for two months now, I see that it's mom and only mom who will be putting him to bed anytime soon. We've established our routine. And as it's just the two of us home during the day, we've become so bonded. How could I leave him every weeknight for over a month and most of every Saturday to rehearse when he's so brand new? I signed up for this, I'm showing up for this.

I don't mind being tired. I don't mind saying no. I don't mind having a hard time fitting in a shower, or realizing I've been in the same t-shirt for days. It doesn't matter. Nothing is better than him smiling at me. Or how he'll stop crying once he's in my arms. Every morning I wake up excited. I have butterflies all the time. 

I am truly content. I never thought contentment was something I'd feel so fully.

I can't believe how much this little soul has given me and taught me in the last 9 weeks. No way am I missing out on one thing he's here to show me.

Sure, I'll resume a few projects. But nothing that takes me away for too long. I'm going to be stingier with my time.

Charlie's mom first. Everything else, second.


xo

Deena

The women we don't speak of.

I've been thinking about this for awhile. This is probably one of the most personal entries I could ever write. The internet and social media is saturated with mommy bloggers. Women posting about their pregnancies, and what they're learning as they set off on the journey of new mom. It's a club you don't belong to until you become a mother yourself. Babies. Toddlers. Everywhere. Women sharing jokes, and advice, and parenting tips among themselves, all able to relate to each other. This isn't hard to find. You're probably a click away from finding one now.

Then there are stories of women who tried to get pregnant, but weren't able to. There are blogs and articles dedicated to infertility. There aren't as many dedicated to this side, but they're out there.

Lately, I've found myself asking the question, "what about the in-between?" There is a group of us who lie in the haze of the middle. The group of women currently trying. We are floating in the grey area, without belonging to one category or the other. It's a strange, anxious, and superstitious place to be. Half of the month you may be sure you aren't. This is either a hopeful or hopeless phase, depending, I've found. More on that in a bit. The next half of the month you are with, and without. You proceed accordingly, but what does that mean? You may treat yourself as though you are, but if you find you're not, it's back to square one. 

This is the hardest place. It's hard not to be frustrated. To scare yourself by wondering if something is wrong. To put pressure on yourself. The emotional roller coaster is constant.

I find it spills over into many aspects of my life. It obviously affects what I eat and drink, but also my mood, and what activity I may choose to do on a weekend. It affects conversations, and how social I may feel. You must dance around your conversations and plans because you don't yet know yourself. You can't plan something months ahead since you have this priority, yet you don't know for sure, and you don't know when. You can't really talk about what you're going through, so you try to adapt as best as you can to this new existence where it all revolves around trying. A couple of weeks of extreme hope, and a couple of weeks of extreme disappointment. How I'm going to behave that month purely depends where you catch me. I'd say sorry, but I'm not. My husband, my well being, and this future family trumps everything. That's why this is hard. 

When you tell someone you're trying, in hopes of some support, you wish you hadn't more often than not. Even other women, and women who are mothers, seem to forget that before they had their babies they too went through this fragile, sacred time. A time that will be short for some, long for others. 

They ask you when. When hurts. It's impossible to know. If only we had control of what month we could get pregnant. What month we'd like a baby to be born. If only. Some know you're trying, but ask when anyway. Some make jokes. Some tease you that you are, or going to be soon, when they don't know what you've embarked on, and what you've already been experiencing. I've already written about the insensitivity of this for YoU Mag (Are you pregnant yet? Page 13) . You don't know your ultimate outcome, and what if (god forbid) you end up falling in the can't category?

Why aren't there blogs or articles dedicated to us? Who live in half hope, half disappointment each month? Who don't yet belong to a can or can't category? Who buy expensive test after test, heart pounding as we wait for the result. Who are dying for this to be the time we get to tell our husband, "I'm pregnant!" Who can sometimes power through, with faith that it's just not our time. But who sometimes spend the day crumbling, fighting back heartbreak, sure it's never going to happen. Those days, and very well the days that follow, I retreat from the world. I feel I have failed. Again.

I know I'm not alone, and I'd sure like to hear the words of others who get it. We're our own club. There is more to it here in the club of trying than I'd expected. It's definitely different than life before. I'm no longer a woman existing as I did before we decided to join.

I am reluctant to write this. This means letting even more people in on my most personal plans. But I'm in the category of women that we don't speak of, so I'm speaking about us. I'd like to meet my others. This is it's own club and I'd like to know where my women are that exist this way each month, emotionally exhausted, and wondering when it's finally going to end. 

~DM 

Neither here nor there

You know the space between sleep and awake? The hazy and mystical place where new ideas flow freely, and revelations are had? Where you are neither here nor there, but existing somewhere other than this plane? Where dreaming and reality meet? You know how sometimes it's a little more revelatory than others? Me too.

I had one of these visions/experiences the other night. My dad recently sent me the above photos. They speak to me so strongly as familiar and right and me, and only now when I thought to post them did I realize how closely they resemble to what I saw and felt the other day/night.

I was in and out. I was deeply aware of a stillness through the universe. A vastness, a beautiful darkness. All was quiet, calm, peaceful, and so still. All existing as it always had and always will. No time. There is no time. There is no clock, no need nor way to mark a date, or an hour, or the minute.

All was one, breathing together, and time felt suspended and infinite.

I was comforted, remembering that I'm part of that. The most natural thing in the world. Home. I could see the planets through a purple and blue and feel myself around them, and everywhere, for I was (am) part of everything.

It's one of those things you can't quite experience the same when fully conscious, no matter how hard you try. It's fleeting, but so real. So deep. A reminder, a re-awakening, a comfort sent your way. Letting you know that you know more than you think, to believe, and to trust.

For a brief moment, I was let out. Of my physical body, out of this world, out of time. Back to my origins. Back to my home. It's so beautiful there.

In the neither here nor there I've seen heaven. I wrote about it a couple of years ago. After Chuck died, I saw it. It is gold and grand and moves slowly.

In the neither here nor there I've seen my Grandpa and Chuck. They were young, they were happy, they were playing with a baby in a meadow. The grass was so green, the sun was shining, it was warm although they both wore jackets. They had huge smiles on their faces as they spun him around. This little blonde boy.

In the neither here nor there, the same night I was released to the cosmos for awhile, I also felt my future baby. My daughter? All around me. She is there. She is near me. It will soon be time. We're connected already.

A few nights ago my mom had a dream Chuck was teaching me a dance on a stage. He was around 30. He was in a tuxedo. He looked great. As he taught me, others gathered behind us. I think I'm supposed to share a message of his.

A few nights after that, she had another dream that Chuck was buckling a little baby girl into a car seat. She was wearing a dress. All I know, is they are together. She is in good hands. And she will soon be on her way.

She is waiting, watching over me. He'll send her when we're ready.

She knows best.


Thanks for reading,

Deena Marie

xo

Children by Khalil Gibran

Children

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable. 

Khalil Gibran